


Aziraphale Stood Guard

by Aethelflaed



Series: BT Tower Telephone Group D [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aziraphale's Flaming Sword (Good Omens), Broken Bones, Canon-Typical Blasphemy, Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), Do-It-With-Style Event, Guardian Aziraphale (Good Omen), Hopeful Ending, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Non-graphic injuries, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fic, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Trauma, War in Heaven (Good Omens), Warrior Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26648323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelflaed/pseuds/Aethelflaed
Summary: Aziraphale stood guard, as he always had, as he always would.Before Creation, during the endless War, Aziraphale protected the walls of what would become Eden, prepared to stave off any demonic interference.One day, a demon, wounded beyond all belief, crashes to the ground, barely clinging to life...--Written for the Do It With Style Telephone event
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: BT Tower Telephone Group D [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937851
Comments: 44
Kudos: 156





	Aziraphale Stood Guard

**Author's Note:**

> For this event, I was given the theme - Hurt/Comfort - and the prompt "Who Did This?"
> 
> My brain took that and rather went off.
> 
> After I completed the story, it was partially redacted and passes along to another creator, who wrote their own work, and on down a chain of 10 writers and artists, including myself. This series contains all the works in this chain.

Above the Wall of Eden, the sky trembled.

There was no Eden yet, just the wall, a boundary marking what would be the heart of Creation.

But first, the battle.

Angels and demons flashed across the sky, light and dark, eternally clashing, blasts of power shaping and reshaping the ground below. Wind shrieked across the wall, ruffling through the white feathers of the lone sentry.

Aziraphale stood guard, flaming sword in hand.

He had fought, in the Rebellion, through the Fall, and each subsequent Rising as the demons tried to assert their dominance. He had faced down monsters, devils, friends twisted beyond recognition.

Now he was the Guardian, chosen protector of Earth against the forces that sought to destroy it, to twist the Great Plan to their own ends.

He held his post and waited, no angel more steadfast in his duty.

There – just beyond the Wall – something crashed down, a falling star throwing soil a hundred feet in the air. The angel watched for a long time, waiting for the figure to rise. It didn’t.

Aziraphale stood guard, chosen to protect this place – and his charges, once they arrived – to defend them against all threats.

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to be…proactive.

\--

Crawly hated fighting.

It wasn’t in his nature. He was a tempter, a trickster, a force for chaos.

But every few centuries, the Rebels of Hell tried again to dethrone the arrogant Bastards of Heaven, and he became a foot soldier.

The sounds of battle – clashing steel, flapping wings, screams – followed him even into unconsciousness, a nightmare he couldn’t escape, awake or asleep. Always another charge, another fight, another battle—

He jerked awake. The first thing he noticed was the silence – nothing but the roar of wind. Was he dead? Had it finally ended?

Then came the pain.

It consumed him, every nerve. The worst was his chest and back – what the  _ Heaven _ had that angel done to him? – but the burns seemed to cover every inch of skin, scraped raw and bloody from the impact. Every movement made his chest burst into flames, but that was nothing to his wings, a dozen icy knives in each bone—

He curled on his side, finding some small relief. He’d had worse, but not by much. He would heal. It would take ages, and he’d be stuck here, unable to move, but he would heal.

And then…back to the War. The fighting, the pain, the fear, every moment, until his body was broken and he fell to earth again and again…

Above the rise and fall of the hills, he watched the endless, endless battle. It had raged for an eternity, and another before that, before that, before that…

It wouldn’t end. It would never end.

\--

Aziraphale searched the bare hills, circling as far from the Wall as he dared. He found nothing but the wind, tugging his robes, pulling him back towards his duty.

Every mound looked the same. No way to find where the strange shape had fallen.

He turned back to his post.

Just then – something coal-black twisting in the wind. He plucked it from the air and held it to the light of his sword. A feather.

His eyes trailed back across the hills. There was another, sticking out of the ground. And past that…

\--

The forces of Hell rallied, pushing back their enemies. Crawly watched and felt… _ nothing. _

He needed to get up, to fight, or be branded a deserter. He needed to get up, to hide, before an angel found him.

It more than just the pain that held him here. He just couldn’t do it again.

The scuff of a foot, and a white form materialized, wings held high in the howling wind, flames of the sword flickering and flaring.

Crawly closed his eyes, waiting for the end.

\--

Aziraphale had never seen such damage.

The demon couldn’t possibly be alive; there hardly seemed any skin  _ left _ on his lean body, chest and back torn apart as if by claws, arms burned as black as his robes. And the wings – shattered, twisted, only a few black feathers still clinging to the leading edge.

The golden eyes shifted, focused on Aziraphale, and shut.

No other part of him moved.

He knelt cautiously beside the demon, sword angled for both light and protection. Ignoring the wounds, he studied the lean face. It was lined with blood and dirt and a sheen of sweat, plastered with damp curls, so filthy he couldn’t tell their color.

“Who are you?” Aziraphale asked.

But the demon’s eyes shut tighter, one hand pressing weakly to his ribs. “Just do it, you bastard.”

“How did you survive?” Nothing. “I must know. Who did this?”

Now the eyes snapped open, filled with pain and hate and fear. “The fuck does it matter?” The demon curled in on himself. “Just another arsehole with wings. An endless fucking War full of endless bastards and for  _ what?” _

Aziraphale clenched his jaw. “To stop you, as God commanded.”

“Aaaargh!” The demon shoved his hands into the earth, pushing his body up, teeth bared, eyes burning. “Tell God She can take this War, snap it in half, and shove the jagged ends of it up Her arse sideways!”

Such  _ blasphemy. _

The sword moved on its own…

\--

Crawly could feel the heat of the flames against his throat.

Already his arms trembled from the strain, sweat broke out across his brow, down his back. He couldn’t hold this pose, not for long, but by Satan and all the Fallen, he would go out with his head held high.

The angel licked his lips. “How can you say such things?”

“Because it’s true.” Oh, it hurt to speak, to  _ breathe. _ “Because it’s pointless.” His arms shook harder, the next breeze would knock him over. “Because…I don’t want to fight anymore.”

His palms slid across the earth and he collapsed, boneless, falling, always falling—

\--

Aziraphale caught the demon, arms gently cradling his back and shoulders, trying to hold him upright without making the pain worse.

He looked into those golden eyes and his heart ached.

Aziraphale had been a foot soldier, too, long ago. Until he couldn’t face the endless onslaught, wave after wave of death and pain, and quietly arranged to be reassigned. He carried the scars still, body, mind and soul.

He sat between the demon and the now-extinguished sword, blade plunged into the earth, nudged the demon’s head onto his shoulder, taking care not to stir his wings. “It’s alright, my dear fellow. I won’t hurt you.”

\--

Crawly shivered, the wind blowing stinging, freezing sweat into his wounds. The angel’s wing wrapped around him, shielding him, burying him in white feathers.

Something warm emanated from the angel – holy power, not a full blast that would destroy Crawly, but low, gentle healing. It stung, a little, but already his smaller cuts were closing.

“Why?” He glared up at the angel, waiting for the catch. “We’re enemies. You should destroy me.”

The angel’s sleeve brushed across his face, wiping away the grime. “You’re my prisoner.” As if that explained everything.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” Crawly tried to push himself free. “Your lot always want  _ something. _ Fuck you, you’re not getting it from me. I’ll—”

“If you escape me – which won’t be easy, mind, I  _ am _ a Guardian – you can return to the frontlines. Or,” his blue eyes shone, “you stay here and we…negotiate your release when the fighting ends.”

Crawly considered those options very carefully.

“Why me? I’m…worthless.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” Cool fingers brushed across his forehead. “No one is worthless.”

In the embrace of the angel, Crawly found his eyes drifting shut. Well. He could always try to escape later, when his strength returned. “Just s’you know. M’gonna make your life  _ miserable. _ S’what I’m best at.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

\--

The sky trembled in a War that had raged for countless centuries. Angels and demons flashed across the sky, unceasing motion.

Far below them, two enemies sat on a hillside.

The demon, drifting off to a sleep free from nightmares.

The angel, sword nearby, ready to defend his charge against any threats.

Aziraphale stood guard, as he always had, as he always would.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> This was a difficult fic to write because the original draft was 2,000 words long - and the event limit was 1,000! Cutting out words was...well, let's just say VERY PAINFUL and I still had to get approval for this oversized fic.
> 
> I might post an expanded version of this fic as a "chapter 2" if anyone is interested. My options would either be the same fic but with a few hundred words added in to improve the flow and description, or a much larger expansion of the world I've painted here. Would anyone be interested in this?
> 
> Two more Telephone fics will be forthcoming from me later today or tomorrow - and head to [DoItWithStyleEvents](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doitwithstyleevents) for nearly a hundred works of Good Omens fic and art posted in the next two days!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I'm Falling (For You)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26652649) by [itwasadarkandstormynight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itwasadarkandstormynight/pseuds/itwasadarkandstormynight)




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